


By Night

by lyriumyue



Series: Silt and Timber [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, in blackest envy spoilers, non-inquisitor trevelyan - Freeform, past trauma, sex and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 02:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14071095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumyue/pseuds/lyriumyue
Summary: Scene pulled from a later part ofIn Blackest Envy, Kiaran and Cullen, after the start of their relationship.First time in the dark, first time Cullen-dominant. Sex and feelings.





	By Night

**Author's Note:**

> A little scene to get my inspiration and spark going again. Things have been a bit tough.
> 
> Spoilers, I guess, but the ship's in the tags of the main story. 
> 
> Title from the song "By Night" by Hushed.

Cullen learns that it's not sex, but open intimacy that's the hard part.

She's younger --not significantly, like seven years means that much when they've seen what they have? --and he first thought that would get in the way - a young woman, would he need to guide her, what were her limits, did she know? - but she was quick to toss layers aside and tackle him into the blankets. Her hands know how to move, where to go, and she doesn't hesitate, doesn't stutter. What normally manifests as an insufferable energy to push her agenda, to get under others' skin, drags him under, intoxicating. She's ferocity and sparks, sometimes she even bites, and in the black blanket of night, Kiaran is relentless. It winds him, emotionally, _physically_ , and they both sleep hard and sometimes, they don't even talk before they separate, and that's fine. He rather likes it, this strangeness, where silence and the dark are comfortable.

That side is easy.

But after a puffy lip from tripping over his vambraces into the stone wall four nights ago, they kiss in front of candles stacked on the high, little shelf on the far wall. The light brings out her nerves, he learns, as she fumbles with ties and buttons and half mutters, half babbles under her breath as she avoids his eyes. But she won't put out the candles even when he says it's fine, _I know it's not personal_. Kiaran hides under the tangles of her hair, and crosses her arms across her skinny body, but she does not back down.

Hers is not a pride easily defeated, and she won't give her brother (nor her very few friends) the chance to tease her a second time, so she continues as if he hadn't spoken at all.

Her fingers keep missing buttons and she gets frustrated, tangled, in her garments more than once. Cullen reaches forward. His rough hands slide over her much smoother skin easily, and she rolls her shoulders and steps out of her skirts and bodice with a shaking, nervous laugh when his hands guide her through. Her face burns, and she bites at the corner of her lip, the corner that quirks up when she's amused, inspired. Cullen eases her hands from covering her body, places them on his waist, and starts a trail of gentle, adoring, open-mouthed kisses from her palms to her collarbone, teeth dragging against the strap of her underclothes over her shoulder, until her hands are gripping him in anticipation instead of fear. The talking is hard tonight, and silence between them is getting easier, almost as easy as sharp words and cutting barbs.

They lock eyes, she swallows, and her hands tense again for just a second.

He closes his eyes to calm her when he takes her lips and presses her into the pillows.

Darkness is easy, dragging fingernails and starving wet kisses, shadows under barely-there moonlight illuminating her lip bitten in self-reserve, shielding unladylike moans and how she wants to ask for more. Time suspends, dark doesn't move and shadows don't chase when you're too focused to watch the stars, hisses and whimpers help you to _feel_ better than you can see. Darkness is easy when she climbs into his lap and whines as he guides her down, the almost-sigh and hitch of breath and...there's no worry, no self-deprecation, self-defeat in the battle of his scars against her jagged edges when they're not looking, not thinking, worrying, _is this--am I--what if--_

Cullen has to admit to himself that maybe he's not quite ready for the intimacy of _her_ stare, either, so he kisses her harder and lets his hands wander down. And then his blood burns excited and confident and _distracted_ when she lets him turn her around, to peel off her last garments with her spine pressed to his chest. She acquiesces without a fight this time, smiling against him instead and playfully tilting her hips to help him get her out of her smalls.

Sometimes, a sweetness she pretends is long gone comes out, like now as she arches and rolls back her head with the shallowest inhale and covers her hand over his as it trails down her bare thigh. He presses kisses to her ear, her throat, slow and sweet and adoring as she clutches his right hand, and leaves him to loosen his own clothes with his left. She loves to indulge, presses his palm further down her belly, past the corner of her hip until his fingers are almost between her legs.

He kisses, chuckles against her neck and pulls his hand away to turn her chin toward him.

Her breathy whine is almost a beg as his tongue slides past her lips.

Cullen nudges her forward eventually, as the barest hint of a smile pulls the corner of her mouth, the way he remembers, the way he likes. He stops half stuck in his shirt as she stretches and sinks forward on her elbows, slowly, _very intentionally_ , pushing up her hips toward him. This, they've never done.

Sometimes, she's sweet. Mostly, she's sharp, clever, and eager to show it off, and it infuriates him, drives him mad, because he can't get enough of her pushing his buttons. It's so predictable and yet he falls for it every single time.

Kiaran catches him off guard by bending over so submissively, but he's not new, just a little rusty, and once his clothes are tossed over hers on the floor behind them he answers her deliberate baiting with a pinch of her ass, and an even less friendly tug back against him. She laughs and presses back into him with an affectionate hum, and cranes her neck to kiss the edge of his mouth as his hands part her knees just a little more. He guides her wrists and arms back down to the mattress with small murmurs of _just like that_ and _allow me_. He barely realizes that the purr he's hearing is from _him_ as he encourages her.

It's a bit strange, being this comfortable.

She shivers under his finger as he draws it down the length of her spine.

He follows the clusters of freckles on her shoulders with presses of his lips to her skin, hands reaching around to caress her breasts. She presses her ass back into him as she does, and the contact against his cock, her slick and his hardness, harder than he thought, makes him grunt through his teeth, and he gives one of her nipples the tiniest flick in response. She attempts not to make any noise, but the pleased little squeak is impossible to miss. Still, he respects - is impressed, inspired by - the way she holds her composure, what little remains.

Cullen doesn't have to see it to know Kiaran is smirking. Light or shadow, Maker's breath, he knows when she's got that look on her face.

His fingers stop on her waist when he spots a mangled scar on the back of her hip. He's never seen it - they never disrobe in daylight, with so many interruptions, and she's quick to dress when his back is turned to clip on his armour, before dawn. The scar's an ugly thing, obviously never felt the touch of a healer, and though she barely seems to notice his pause, he's sure it must have hurt when it happened. He smooths over it, the ripples and bumps, and kisses between her shoulders like it might have pulled the pain away from the moment when it happened.

"What is this?" he asks, suddenly sullen, murmuring into her skin as he rubs circles over the old wound with his thumb.

Kiaran glances back at him with brows furrowed, confused, before she realizes what he's referring to. "Acid," she says with a shrug, and stretches out in front of him again with a little wiggle of her bottom to encourage him to continue.

He doesn't.

"How did you...?" Another sweet, apologetic kiss, this time to the scar itself. "This must have taken weeks--"

Her shoulders draw in. "It was a... _learning experience_." Another shrug, this one less careless. More measured. Guarded. She picks at a loose thread in his sheets. "Boundaries...aren't a luxury apostates get to have. And at seventeen you just..." Kiaran pauses like she's searching for the words, and then shakes her head. "It was a long time ago. Different place, and I was a different person."

"Kiaran..." His heart stutters a little, and he forgets arousal, forgets for a moment that she's bent over in front of him and waiting and all he can do is hold her close, kiss her hair and move his hands soothingly over her skin.

"Maker's mercy!" she curses, and twists back to glare at him over her shoulder. "Are you _really_ doing this right now? We're making love and you're staring at my scars instead of my ass? What kind of white knight mood murderer are you--"

He can't help the deep laughter at her indignation, and he almost hiccups in surprise at his own voice shaking and echoing in his room as he tries not to lose it completely, covers his mouth with his hand like that will help. Kiaran turns away with an irritated sigh and sinks back down to her elbows with her lips sticking out in a pout.

But then it hits him, the absurd normalcy of it all --that they can argue, and he can laugh like this and she isn't put out, and she said--

\--and his whole _soul_ is on fire, hotter than any lyrium madness--

" _Making love_ , hmm?" he repeats, voice low, and he climbs over her and wraps his arms around her.

"I didn't say tha--aaahngh--"

His hand slips between her legs as he nuzzles her cheek, and she's breathless beneath him while he draws his finger in a lazy circle around her slit. She squirms, fists her hands in the sheets and braces her knees beneath her, locks her elbows as she arches back against him, trying to get closer, regain control.

Cullen hums in her ear. Gently shifts his weight to his knees and his hips, lifts his other hand to gently cup her chin, hold her hostage against him. A blush burns red from her cheeks to her ears, down her throat and chest, where tight nipples point dark pink. Her breaths come in shudders, and Cullen almost lets his finger slide inside of her.

" _Cullen_..." She's trying to sound angry. She's anything but.

He swallows her complaint with his lips, sucks on her tongue with the same pace, pressure, of his fingers lightly drawing against her folds, always just enough away, never quite brushing where she wants, always just missing that little swollen bud, on purpose. Her knuckles are near-white and an aching little sob comes from the back of her throat. He kisses her sweetly now, the same way he does when she visits in the afternoon, leaning on the edge of his desk, expecting of his attention.

She pushes her hips back against him, impatient, and it almost hurts-- Andraste save his soul, he wants to give in, like they do in the dark, and fuck her hard while she's stuck in his arms.

He doesn't.

He draws it out, the kiss, his growl...her whine.

Cullen almost feels lost and he's delighted not to search for the way out. It's the light sheen of sweat, hot skin against his, the scent of leather and charred paper from her hair, the musk of her arousal and the feel of his fingers sliding against her. It's the small twitches of her shoulders pressed against him, twisting, just a little, trying to get what she wants. Her toes curl, he smirks, almost a grin, and hopes the candles don't gutter out before they're done. He watches, stares, unblinking, commits this to memory as much as he can, however he can, that this is a moment, a collision between them he doesn't mind playing later in his obsessive thoughts over and over.

"Wider," he whispers, and it takes her several seconds to focus on what he says, to hear it, to process. Another soft kiss to her cheek, to her ear. "You can do it."

Soundless, no argument, no objection, as she arches higher and spreads her knees further apart. Kiaran likes to be on top, and that suits them both just fine, but this, and the dancing of shadows over her so exposed beneath him...he forgets to filter, moderate, _stop_ the rough, hungry sound she draws from him.

He rewards her with a small press on her clit with his middle finger.

She purses her lips and tries to still the shudder, but her legs go weak and tremble beneath her, and she has to catch herself with one hand flying back to grab at him, find purchase in pinching her nails into his skin.

"Stop that," she gasps as he presses harder, slides back, fingertip just barely slipping into her entrance.

"Oh?" Cullen lifts the hand between her legs, buries his face in her neck. "We aren't making love, then?"

She sputters, the blush deepens and her ears may as well be scarlet, but Kiaran seems lost for words, for an argument, and her brows furrow over her large hazel eyes and his heart pounds. His cock aches.

Cullen pretends not to notice, the way it twitches or the way Kiaran searches him for comfort, for relief. "That's unfortunate," he murmurs, "Because I really thought that we were."

Her eyes glint green, gold...finally, _fire_.

" _Cullen Stanton Rutherford_." Her voice quivers even as it threatens, and Kiaran writhes just a bit in his grasp. "If you leave me like this I swear I'll die and then _I will haunt you_."

He exhales and gently lowers them, pushes her downward until she's nearly completely bent into the pillows. She's excited, nearly throwing herself down as her hands shake, and she lets go of him to wrap both arms around one of the pillows and clutch it to her like it might save her, help her through.

"Kiaran." His tongue dances along the curve of her ear as his body slides against hers, and his teeth lock onto the tiny stud in her earlobe. "Maker's breath, _you already do_."

There's no pause, no more hesitation or the fear of the weight of her gaze as he presses into her with two fingers down to the knuckle. The little mewl she gives is enough, and mere minutes scissoring, and curling his fingers inside her, nearly coats his entire hand. His thumb grazes her pearl as he turns his wrist. Words fail her, words fail him, as she rocks back into him and tries to take more of his hand inside her.

Cullen soothes her with a shhh, and backs up enough to run his wet fingers along his length, to spread the precum at his tip.

Sliding into her in one, slow motion, he feels the world stop as she stretches around him. It's maybe seconds, definitely less than a minute because she's nothing if not _impatient_ , and she tests her own limits by rocking forward and then shoving her hips back against him, biting an exhale of pain through pursed lips and clenched teeth. He almost doesn't make it, one hand bruising in its grip on her hip and the other scrabbling for something, a tether, reality, in his blankets. Cullen widens his stance, drops a little lower before angling sharply upward as his hips snap into hers.

Kiaran doesn't even try to stifle the wanting, erotic sob that breaks out of her.

"...aah...a--again," she stammers, gasping, pressing her forehead with her eyes shut tight against the pillow. One candle flickers out, and those remaining cast long shadows upon them, a softer focus, and Cullen draws his fingers along her, as if to memorize the curve of her backside as he pulls back, almost completely out.

He can't speak without losing it, losing her to his thoughts, so he answers with another long, measured thrust up into her, met with another breathless cry, and then an equally unashamed request for more. He indulges her, he can't help it. It feels --there aren't words, but it's right, somehow, again, and again, the meld and slick of their bodies sliding, and the perfect pressure. Concern flickers briefly --despite her insistence, he's afraid, doesn't want to hurt her, be the one to cause her pain, and his eyes travel to the scar on her hip.

Kiaran thrusts herself back into him, almost like she senses it, the distraction, the - in her words, _unfounded_ \- worrying.

His blunt fingernails find the soft skin of her waist, guide her back to him, the pace he's set.

"Cullen _please_ ," ah, but this sweetness is genuine as she moves to touch herself, begs, voice breaking, and she glances back over her shoulder with half-lidded eyes and blown out pupils and when their eyes meet, she purses her lips - and he won't make her ask again.

"Let me haunt you too," he says, a half crazed whisper, strained, carnal, and forces her hand back down to the bed and rewards her with another hard upward thrust of his hips. Kiaran tightens around him, legs shaking, as she tries to meet him halfway he dives into her again --hot, warm, _soft_...and at the edge of desperation, as she cries beneath him, the two candles left flare to life as his rhythm fumbles and he pushes harder, faster.

They both shine gold as his vision begins to blur.

Cullen has only to brush the tips of his fingers at the hood of her sex and she's sapped of her strength, calling his name in a high-pitched wail as her legs give out and her body clenches around him.

He doesn't stop yet, spurred by--

She begs him in her own high not to stop, not now, not ever.

Orgasm doesn't meet him in shameless darkness but in bright light, exertion and --something else. He grips the headboard and his thighs burn but he can't stop, not---

The last light glimmers and puffs out all at once as he fills her, soft murmurs of yes and her name, and her cries to a Maker she normally curses. Lyrium thrums between them - her mana, his blood - and he pants over her until his breath, his vision, return and he crashes next to her. His fingers feel like they're on fire and numb all at once, and he flops bonelessly onto his back, panting, adrenaline and fatigue fighting in him, before he realizes, he didn't ask.

"Kiaran, I'm sor--"

She cuts him off by throwing herself into a kiss, both hands pressed into his cheeks like it'll keep him - her - steady. He wraps his arms around her and she tucks into him like...like she's never been held before. She leans into him, what little strength he has left, and devoid of any resolve, he gives it to her.

"It's fine," she promises, "That was...I..." and she wipes at her eyes - tears? Her lips fall to his again, softer, tired.

He musters the energy to reach around her, to push her hair back out of her face, tuck it behind her ears. Her scalp is near damp, and so is his, and he's sure, it's her too...that both their lips are swollen, near numb, tingling with the buzz of magic and magnetism. There's a pleasant husk to her voice, strained, strained from _him_. It's a strange feeling, a swell of pride he's never thought to know.

She moves to ease off him and he holds her firm, leans up to kiss her again.

"Maker, you're beautiful," he says, smiles, grins.

She giggles. Bites her lip, looks away. He draws her back.

"Don't hide your smile--"

"I'm...it's not..." Kiaran looks back at him. Affection, wonder...and hints of fear.

"Stay," he asks. They'll both have to bathe, and talk, probably, in the morning but--but right now, all he wants is that fill of understanding silence, quiet, between them.

She curls up against him, reaches over, and interlocks her fingers with his.

His heart might burst from his chest.

"We're different again," she says, half to herself, and she sounds confused. "I don't..."

His heart sinks, until she gives a shake of her head, tries again.

"I don't want to be anywhere else, Cullen. That's...it's...I..." A tired, soft - radiating, and gentle smile. He's never seen this one before, and he plants a firm kiss on her forehead, hushes her. She nods, and then before he knows it she's sleeping with deep, full breaths, curled into his side with his arm locked around her.

In the haze of exhaustion, he wonders what she means --every time she brings it up, she seems about to reveal more, holds back, buries it with her secrets --ones like that terrible burn he never noticed before tonight.

He remembers a story from one the old mothers in his childhood, about one soul split in half by the Maker so they could find each other again. In the morning, he'll ask if they tell the same stories in Ostwick. Perhaps she isn't the only one doing the haunting--

He drifts in the darkness, under a starless sky above, where the shadows are comfortable - her shadow, his, and it doesn't matter anymore which one is which.


End file.
